Meeting the Neighbour
by DolbyDigital
Summary: He was clearly insane, watching her in her kitchen like that. But then again, no one was forcing her to talk to him. Maybe she wasn't exactly normal either.


It certainly wasn't the lavish affair she was used to; with the peeling paint and mould discolouring patches of the ceiling, it was a far cry from her large family estate.

She hadn't thought she'd miss it so much – she'd wanted a fresh start, after all – but she missed the quiet and the comfort of familiar surroundings. She'd been here for a couple years and still wasn't used to the place; she'd never imagined she would ever feel so alone surrounded by so many people.

She threw her keys into the bowl by the door, letting it swing shut behind her, and went straight to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. It was too hot, really, but it was more of an automatic gesture than any real desire for a cup of tea.

She couldn't remember why she'd decided to try living as a Muggle – if you'd told her when she was at Hogwarts that this would be her life she would have hexed you before you could even think of telling anyone else.

With a sigh, she switched the kettle off and threw open the kitchen window, struggling slightly with the old latch.

She'd been half leaning out the window, arms resting on the sill and head hanging down between her shoulders, for a solid ten minutes before she realised that whoever lived in the house with the garden that backed onto hers was staring at her.

She froze instantly, as if that would somehow make her invisible. When they showed no signs of moving either, she slowly pulled her arms back to her sides and took a shaky step away from the window.

The stranger actually _grinned_ at her. And _waved_. Clearly he was insane.

She took another step back.

He leant out the window, smile still firmly in place. It was a nice smile, she supposed, he looked friendly enough; but then again, she'd watched enough Netflix to know that probably meant he was a serial killer.

"What's your name?" He asked cheerfully. He had a nice voice, too.

She didn't answer.

"I'm Charlie," he continued.

She hadn't moved in nearly five minutes now.

"Are you okay? You're being really weird right now."

 _She_ was being weird? _Her_? How did he think _he_ was acting? Like the poster child for fucking sanity? And why the _fuck_ was he laughing?

 _Crap_.

She realised too late that she'd been talking out loud. It had been so long since she'd actually spoken to someone that she'd taken to filling the silences herself.

"Pansy," she said with a sigh, head hanging in defeat.

"Sorry, what?"

"My name. It's Pansy."

"Oh! Sorry. I thought you were insulting me," and she must have been even lonelier than she thought, because she found herself responding to the creep.

"Pratt."

"Were your parents going for the alliteration then?"

"That time I _was_ insulting you."

"Aw, Pansy! C'mon! I thought we had a real connection going here," he shook his head, mock frown in place.

"You were staring at me. It was weird," she replied in monotone, expression blank.

"Hey! No fair! I thought you were dead, the way you were hanging from your window!"

"So, what? You thought you'd get a good look?"

"Well I had to make sure!"

"No! You think someone might be dead call the fucking police!"

"But what if you weren't? Then I'd be the idiot that sent the police 'round to your house for a non-existent corpse."

"But what if I was?"

"Then you wouldn't care what I did," he replied simply, face smug.

"You look really familiar. Do I know you?" she changed the topic abruptly.

"I've seen you naked on several occasions," shit. He was clearly stalking her. They were going to find her dead body a couple months from now, rotting and stinking up the place. No one would realise until the neighbours complained of the smell. Oh dear Merlin! She was going to- " _Accidentally_!" he yelled. Possibly because of the obvious panic attack she was in the process of having. "I've _accidentally_ seen you naked, when you're getting changed in your kitchen. You should really close the curtains if you're going to do that."

She'd never turned so red so quickly. She was absolutely _mortified_. What else had he seen? Had he seen her dancing to Shania Twain? Sliding on the linoleum floor in her socks?

"Saw you chasing a frog in your garden once," he began, his grin widening the bigger her eyes got. "Shame you didn't catch it, really."

"Oh dear _Merlin_ ," she moaned into the hands now covering her face.

"W-what?"

"Oh, um..." she didn't know how to explain that off as something else.

"You're a witch?" _huh._

"Err... Yeah..." this shouldn't be more awkward than any other part of their conversation.

"Hey, it's cool. Me too."

"You're a witch?" the sarcasm was out before she could contain it. Being alone for so long had completely destroyed her brain-to-mouth filter.

"Shut up, you know what I mean," he suddenly turned serious. "So did you go to Hogwarts then?"

"Uh... yeah."

"What's your name?"

"You know my name."

"Your surname. Maybe we did know each other," she really doubted it, but answered none-the-less.

"Parkinson," she was probably at least a little insane to be telling him this.

"So I was right about the alliteration, then," he said after a slight pause. _Crap._ He knew who she was. "Charlie Weasley," well that was bloody fantastic. "You dance like a twat, by the way."


End file.
